More Snippets from Milenyo

Caption: Not even private subdivisions were exempt from the devastation.



Caption: The remnants of a huge billboard along EDSA.

The Milenyo weekend was definitely a unique experience. I had accustomed myself to a nomadic lifestyle, bringing with me a flashlight, a bottle of mineral water, and all the adapters for my electrical gadgets. On late Friday evening, I ventured in what used to be the crowded streets of Greenhills. Where people used to gather at the Promenade, the lone beacon of light was a McDonalds powered by a generator. Not surprisingly, I saw a lot of familiar faces there, mostly people from my high school (as well as the school opposite of it).

A batchmate who was a World of Warcraft addict was there, disconnected from his community. I told him that the street opposite of us had electricity while we didn't, and he could sympathize as his was the only house in his area that was still deprived of electricity.

An ICAn was staring at me, a girl I occassionally ran into while I was still part of the high school paper, but we never knew each other. She was probably wondering why I looked familiar; both of us didn't really age in appearance. But she was with her companions (a combination of ICAns and Xaverians), and shyness overcame us both. I actually remember her, a legacy of my stalker talents. She was the art editor of ICA's paper, Icalettes. She was at least a batch older than me, and I faintly remember her shopping at Comic Alley, buying anime merchandise as I manned the counter behind. I even remembering the shirt I was wearing back then, a black Evangelion shirt that was a birthday present from my high school friends. Maybe we'll get to meet again, maybe not.

The trip home was a dark and lonely road, figuratively and literally. I had to turn my flashlight on to safely cross the street, for it was definitely that dark. When I reached my street, most of it was still dark, but the same could not be said for the silence. There was humming, and then later, a loud booming sound. I was at the gate of actor Richard Gomez's house and even he was not exempt from the blackout. There was a large black truck parked inside his garage though, the first time I had seen such a vehicle. There was a large tube attached to it, and it was the source of the noise. Apparently they were renting a generator, the type used by film productions.

And then when I woke up Saturday morning, there was still no power, and drinkable water was limited to one pitcher. I went to Makati where the city was equally as bizzarre as my village: one half of the street had power, while the other didn't. When I reached my friend's condo, it was still running on its generator, and he told me tales of their windows barely withstanding the storm. Not everyone would be as fortunate though as a coworker witnessed her windows breaking amidst the typhoon. My brother's car has a cracked window, a victim of a McDonald sign that was blown by the wind. And I'm sure everyone else has their own stories to tell.